Arkham Concept
by samflint98
Summary: A little experiment but if you like it, I'd love to continue :) Everybody comes together at comic con to celebrate their favourite characters from across all mediums, but what would happen if you actually WERE your hero? How would YOU fair in their world?


"I look like an utter arse." Cilian said contemptuously, straining in his Nightwing suit in order to pull the blue wings across his centre. "It's pretty hard to look bad in a nightwing suit" His friend Tom said matter of factly, "Just pull out the escrima sticks and the girls'll love it." " I guess." Cilian murmured. "Trust me man, you ought to see the Harley's there, you'll be in there before you know it." Tom smirked. Cilian's mind filled with images of cons past and he couldn't help but feel envious of the guys there. He recalled feeling the same emotions some months ago, which had led him here, to a train, in a nightwing suit "So you don't think I'm gonna get laughed out of the arena in my skin tight lycra?" He sighed. "Im sure if the worst comes to the worst you could fend them off with your escrima sticks." Tom said mockingly. "Hardy har har." Cilian replied dryly. "Screw it, lets go, what's the worst that could happen." "That's the spirit! Live long and prosper my friend." Tom remarked whilst performing his best vulcan hand sign. "Man you seriously need to read some comics, anyways, save it for Ohura."

_3 hours later:_

Cilian breezed out of a cubicle, bouncing up to a sink and rinsing his hands. Despite his reservations, he'd enjoyed his experience. He'd met some of his favourite writers, some artists and seen a few notable actors. He'd enjoyed a lot of the awesome costumes, even had a few pics with some of batman's rogue gallery, of which he particularly enjoyed poison ivy, and he wanted to go around again, hopefully with a better outfit than his current one, to which the tightness around his groin was beginning to become embarrassingly apparent. He grabbed some paper towels, skulked towards the door and reached for the handle. He noticed a distinct heaviness to the door, to which he had previously not felt as he entered in and his suspicions were alarmed. As he yanked open the door, after some effort, he gazed upon the surroundings that greeted him. A dark, hollowed out arena, with charred walls and peeled off paintwork, greeted his apprehensive eyes. He strained and attempted to gather his senses, recalling the days events and his previous actions, all to no avail, simply further confusing him. What had happened? Was there some sort of attack? Why had he heard nothing? Where even was everyone? He attempted to stumble forward through the malaise of jumbled wood and rubbish, hoping to reach the boarded windows on the other side of the hall. "Hello?" He called anxiously. "Helloooo?" His voice echoed around the silent, devoid complex. What the actual fuck is going on here, he thought angrily, teetering on the edge of frustration. He attempted to pull the rotting wood panels, that covered all of the windows in his vicinity, off of one of the closers windows, but despite his best efforts, they seemed resistant to pry loose.

After some minutes had passed, the isolation of his surroundings began to sink in and a feeling of desperation and serious concern overtook him. The darkness seemed to fill every room he dare enter. He set his final target to the major exit, but from his experiences with the entrance and the other doors, he very much feared the worst. As he approached, he glimpsed a shard of glass on the stained floor, glimmering back at him a foreign reflection. He span around furiously, greeted only by a chilling breeze, carrying with it relief on his part. Slowly returning his focus back to the shard, a familiar striking blue emblem caught his attention. He gazed down at his chest. An armoured, sleek chestplate had lodged itself where his small, scrappy lyric suit once pronounced itself so clumsily. Eagerly continuing to explore his new facets, he bounced his eyes from his metallic black boots, to his padded, dark gauntlets, complete with talons and then, as if his current dilemma had been forgotten, he grasped at his back, returning two gleaming, indented escrima's, complete with blue tips. Things may be beginning to look up...He thought contentedly, admiring also his new eye mask.

Confused at the purpose of his new costume, Cilian nervously paced on to the exit, convinced by now he had either resorted to insanity or he would awaken momentarily, back into the world of normality. At his fastening pace, he found himself at the door sooner than expected, although as confused as ever. The doors were indeed bolted just as the others except in the opening foyer, he observed the surrounding walls covered in a large chain link fence, cutting off all entrance or exit, with bloodied barbed wire coating the top, as a haunting reminder of it's sly lethality. As he continued further in, in trepidation, he was stopped dead by an echoing sound of footsteps from the stairs. Emanating to the second floor above him, to which he didn't recall. He glanced dartingly upwards, noticing the crude graffiti that littered the walls. A sudden pang of horror streamed into Cilian's chest. The giddy smiles and the grisly text instantly recognizable. To his shock, countless sets of eyes appeared upon the balcony, a dim orange in nature, still, emotionless, watching. "I think I went into the wrong room, Im just gonna…" Cilian's voice trailed off as the one exit slammed behind him. "Soooo, you guys wouldn't have anything to do with the whole, death look this place has going on?" He said whimsically. The dulling eyes, piercing his gaze, remained motionless. "Well, Im glad we had this conversation but, I really wouldn't min-" Cilian was cut off mid sentence by a well placed throwing knife into his lower calf. The knife protruded from his leg, as the wound slowly seeped his vibrant blood across the carpet, with a bronze etching of an owl similarly gazing imperiously below him. "OW!" He yelped satirically as he reeled from the sudden blow, still not fully comprehending his recent wound. "This actually feels like I've been stabbed! Ha…Crazy…" His voice feigned as he tried to stem the flow of blood trickling down his leg. His face took on a steely grit as a silhouette appeared on the balcony. The spectre leaped from the overlook and pounced prophetically into the centre of the foyer, just a little of Cilian's position. "The court has sentenced you to death, Nightwing and they shall make no mistake this time, fight and die, little bird."

The spectre, now fully lighted and shown to be packing a fully armoured Talon suit, multiple Knives, tools and various explosives, spewed in a chaotic, gravelly tone. Cilian, now seriously doubting his dream hypothesis, desperately tried to raise himself to his full height, slipping under the pain of his bloodied leg. He scrambled up a nearby pillar for support in time to distinguish the outline of a Talon, dashing at ferocious speed, towards his crippled body and immediately seized an escrima stick, hanging off the back of his torso. As he neared, Cilian took a precise swipe at the ankle of his new found opponent, seeking to find him off guard, only to be broken by the sight of his aggressor bounding over his weapon and slicing with icy accuracy at the centre of his chest, crafting a target of blood over his emblem. Hardened by his mistake, Cilian fiercely dug deep and drew higher up the pillar, eventually placing more and more support onto his wounded leg. The Talon, gliding round the chain link fence, attempting to disorientate it's prey, began his second assault, once more charging cilian's position. Clutching his second escrima from his back, Cilian rose his fists in front of his torso in preparation. "I always did hate owls." He grinned optimistically. The Talon charged in front of him, knives first, leaping into his neck. Cilian, with fear pounding through him, clenched his sticks and pounded into the air. To his astonishment blue sparks filled the space between them, glistening off of the steely cold of the Talons many blades. The echo of the clashing bodies filled the foyer, reverberating with a electrical fizzle as the escrimas dug deep into the Talons armour. Tumbling onto the floor, the Talon just as quickly regained her senses, and swiftly sent multiple jabbing blows into Cilians stomach before somersaulting back to the edge of the chain link fence to continue her circle. I can't survive another go around, Cilian thought, his chin dripping red with blood. She just shrugged off a charge that could incapacitate a horse. Think, cilian, think, if she's a Talon, you're Nightwing, what plan have you got to get out of this? The Talon staring menacingly at her opponent, looming over him as a bird of prey does a mouse and she leapt for the killing blow. As she did, flickering shreds of glass poured above her, one slicing into her arm straight to the bone. An elegant foot slammed into the the Talon and allowing a small window of opportunity to move unhindered whilst the Talon was incapacitated. Cilian, wondering how he had still not met his grisly end, turned to face his new found saviour. "You are taking the piss aren't you?" he ejected. He instantly recognized the searing red hear of his companion, and the blinding yellow of her boots and cape. He studied her elegant structure as he gazed from her bat emblazed torso to her spikey, sleek horns atop her mask. "So the court of owls tries to kill me and batgirl comes to save me?" he uttered questioningly as she reached to her belt and dispensed two smoke grenades onto the floor and removed her grappling hook from her side. "Nice to see you're already doing well with the ladies only an hour into being Nightwing." She retorted cynically. "What can I say, they just cant get enough." He reproached. "Looks like she managed to get quite a good chunk from your leg." She replied dryly as she aided him up from his supportive pillar and hoisted her arm around him. "These con girls are vicious." He smirked. "Ohh, I'm sure, good job you've always had me to clean up your messes." She teased playfully, as her grappling hook fired into the air, pounding into the brittle ceiling. "What would I do without you?" He said as the pair were flung into the new skylight above.


End file.
